God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem-Chapter 634: Why Don’t You Strip Down?

Olivia nestled closer on Kafka's lap, her plump, soft body molding against his, the warmth of his strong frame a comforting anchor.

A quiet joy bloomed in her chest, the happiest she'd felt in years.

After the relentless stress of the city, the endless meetings and sterile apartments, she was finally home, not just in the physical sense but in the embrace of her son a closeness she'd feared would take months, if not years, to achieve.

Here she was, embarrassingly perched on his lap, his arms cradling her like a child, and though she was supposed to be the one cuddling him, the way he held her, strong and steady, felt like a gift she'd never known she needed.

She didn't mind the reversal; she reveled in it, savoring a treatment so tender and new it made her heart ache with gratitude.

As Kafka's fingers continued their gentle caress between her stocking-clad thighs, squeezing the soft flesh like it was a familiar toy, a thought stirred in her mind. He'd mentioned two ways of cuddling—one being this, the playful lap-sitting Abigaille preferred, and another, the way he liked.

Curiosity sparked, mingling with a desire to please him, to make him as comfortable and happy as he was making her.

If this was Abigaille's way, what was his?

She wanted to try it, to show him she was fully part of this family, to satisfy him by embracing his preferences, so with a shy smile, she turned her head, her cheek brushing his shoulder, and asked,

"Kafi...You said there were two ways you cuddle, right? Abigaille's way, this one, and...Your way. What exactly is your way? Can we try that, too?"

"...I want to know how you like to watch movies, what makes you comfortable."

Her voice was soft, but a coy edge crept in as she added, her eyes flickering with nervous curiosity,

"I-I was also wondering if your...your way was even more intimate than this?"

The question hung between them, her heart racing as she realized how close they already were—her ass on his lap, her breasts pressed against his chest, his hand stroking her inner thigh.

It didn't feel like a typical mother-son moment; it felt...closer, almost like lovers sharing a quiet, affectionate evening. The thought flashed through her mind, startling her, and she quickly shook it off, chastising herself for letting the village's open-mindedness twist her perceptions.

Kafka's hand paused, his fingers stilling between her thighs as he looked at her, his dark eyes searching hers.

"Why do you ask, Mom?" He asked, his voice low and teasing, a playful challenge in his tone. "If I said my way is more intimate, would you back out? Not wanna continue?"

Olivia's eyes widened, her head shaking quickly as she leaned in, her arms tightening around his neck.

"No, not at all!" She said, her voice quick and earnest. "I was just...wondering. I mean, we're already so close, I can't imagine how we could be more intimate...I'm curious, that's all."

Her words were honest, but beneath them, a flicker of unease stirred—how far did this village's customs go? And why did her mind keep drifting to thoughts that felt...Wrong?

Kafka's smile was warm, but a glint of satisfaction shimmered in his eyes, his plan unfolding perfectly.

"Oh, there's definitely more ways to cuddle, Mom." He said, his voice smooth and deliberate. "Intimate ways, some...pretty extreme, especially the way I like. Way more than this."

His tone was casual, but the word 'extreme' sent a shiver through Olivia, as she thought what could be more intimate than this? Her embarrassment churned, but her desire to be part of his world, to match Abigaille's closeness, kept her rooted.

Before he could elaborate, his gaze swept over her, lingering on her tight office suit, the way it strained against her curves.

"But hold up." He said, his tone shifting to concern. "Before we get into that, you look like you just walked out of a boardroom. That outfit—it's gotta be uncomfortable, right? You can't relax at home dressed like that."

Olivia gave a wry smile, glancing down at her suit, the vest and skirt clinging to her body.

"You're right, Kafi." She admitted, her voice tinged with sheepishness. "I didn't have time to change. I was so excited to see you and Abigaille, I finished work, jumped in the car, and drove straight here. That's why I got here early."

"...But, yeah, it's tight. Not exactly cozy home attire."

Her thoughts drifted to her chest, the massive breasts squeezed painfully into the vest, suffocated by layers of fabric. She longed to peel it off, to let her chest breathe.

But just as she was thinking of changing, Kafka's gaze dropped to her chest, his eyes tracing the heaving curves with an intensity that made her breath catch. freewebnσvel.cøm

"Yeah, I bet." He said, his voice soft but pointed. "Your chest especially—it's gotta be aching, stuffed in there like that. Looks painful just to see it. I can't imagine having breasts that big and wearing all those layers, squeezing them all day."

Olivia's cheeks burned, her hands instinctively moving to cover her chest as his words hit her. A son commenting on his mother's breasts? It was unthinkable, scandalous, and yet...his tone, his gaze, held no trace of the lecherous intent she'd seen in men on the streets, their eyes dripping with lust that always left her feeling dirty.

Kafka's charming eyes—eyes she couldn't stop glancing at were different.

They held only concern, a genuine worry that his mother was uncomfortable, as if her pain was his own. The purity of it, the absence of any lewd intent, made her heart swell with gratitude.

Her son wasn't just a good man; he was a gentleman, picking up on her discomfort without her saying a word, caring for her in a way no other man ever had.

"You...noticed that?" She asked, her voice soft filled with embarrassment and awe. "I didn't even say anything, but you knew I was uncomfortable."

Kafka's smile was gentle, his hand resuming its caress of her thigh, slow and reassuring.

"Of course I did, Mom. I'm your son—I notice when you're not okay. That's what this village does, right? Makes us open, makes us care. I just want you to be comfortable."

Olivia's chest tightened, not from the vest but from the rush of love and pride she felt. No man could compare to her Kafi, her son who saw her not as an object but as his mother, someone to cherish and protect.

She smiled, her embarrassment easing, replaced by a warmth that made her want to stay in this moment forever.

"You're....such a good son, Kafi." She murmured, her voice trembling with emotion. "I don't know how I got so lucky."

Kafka's eyes softened as Olivia's words sank in, her trembling voice calling him a good son, her gratitude a warmth that stirred something genuine beneath his calculated facade. He shook his head, his smile sincere as he leaned closer, his hand still resting tenderly between her thighs.

"Not at all, Mom." He said, his voice low and earnest. "I'm the lucky one here. You worked your life away, slaving in the city, day and night, not even thinking about yourself, just so I could have a good life."

"All that time, I was here, enjoying what your hard work gave me, and I...I was such a jerk, pushing you away, acting like I didn't want you around...But you never gave up on me. You were patient, never shut me out, no matter how distant I was."

"...And for that I'm grateful, Mom. So damn grateful to have a mother like you."

His words carried a weight that made Olivia gulp, her eyes shimmering as she looked at him. The sincerity in his face, the maturity in his voice—it was undeniable that her son had grown into a man, one who saw her sacrifices and valued her in a way she'd never dared hope.

A quiet prayer of thanks rose in her heart, gratitude to whatever force had brought her family together again, making them feel whole after years of distance. She couldn't help but smile, her chest swelling with pride and love, her earlier embarrassment fading under the glow of his words.

Kafka's hand then gave her thigh a gentle squeeze, his tone shifting to a lighter, teasing note. "But speaking of all that work, Mom, you're still dressed like you're about to close a deal. That suit's gotta be killing you."

"...Why don't you loosen up a bit? You're home now, no need to be all buttoned-up."

Olivia's smile turned wry, her fingers brushing the tight vest that constrained her massive breasts.

"You're right." She said, her voice tinged with sheepishness. "I was going to change, actually. I can just pop upstairs, grab something comfy, and be right back."

She shifted, preparing to slide off his lap, her mind flickering with reluctance, as at first, she'd been hesitant about sitting on his lap, thinking it inappropriate, but now, after feeling the comfort of his strong, steady presence, she hated to leave.

It was addictive, this closeness, and she understood why Abigaille favored it.

Her plan was to change quickly—maybe borrow one of Abigaille's looser tops and hurry back, terrified that lingering too long might mean missing her chance to sit on his lap again.

But before she could stand, Kafka's hands tightened on her waist, holding her firmly in place, his strength a quiet reminder of his control.

"Whoa, where you going?" He asked, his voice playful but edged with something that made her pause.

Olivia blinked, her hands hovering uncertainly.

"To...change my clothes?" She said, her tone confused. "I'll be quick, Kafi, I promise. I haven't unpacked yet, but I can borrow something of Abigaille's. Her clothes fit me fine."

She hesitated, a nervous chuckle escaping as she added.

"If it was anyone else's, I...I wouldn't fit, you know, because of...my chest." She gestured vaguely at her massive breasts, the tight vest straining against them. "But Abigaille's not too far off from me, size-wise...I-It's one of the best things about having her as my best friend, since I can't exactly share my clothes with anyone else."

The joke was a bit risky, her attempt at embracing the village's openness, sharing a private thought she'd normally reserve for a close friend. Her heart raced, wondering if it would land, if Kafka would find it inappropriate, but she wanted to show she was trying to fit into this world of unfiltered honesty.

And to her relief, Kafka's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with amusement rather than disgust.

"Oh, for sure." He said, his tone light and teasing. "If you tried squeezing into some normal person's clothes, that top would rip right off, and your breasts would be bouncing out in the open, jiggling all over the place."

"...You'd not only embarrass yourself with your chest on display, but you'd owe whoever's shirt you tore a new one."

His bluntness made her blush, her cheeks flaming, but the playful warmth in his voice, the ease of their banter, filled her with joy.

They were connecting, finally on the same wavelength, even if the topic was mortifyingly intimate.

But then Kafka's tone shifted, a surprising tone creeping in that caught her completely off guard.

"You know, Mom, I'm really enjoying this right now." He said, his voice softer, almost intimate. "So, right now, this moment, you here with me it's perfect. I don't wanna mess it up by you running off to change." He paused, his eyes locking onto hers, a calculated glint beneath his sincerity. "That's why I'm thinking that you don't need to go all the way upstairs to change."

"...Just strip down a little here. Take off a few things, loosen up. You'll be way more comfortable that way."